


Memories

by Cassianpeia



Category: Throne of Glass - Fandom, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Character death whoop, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-27 02:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15676089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassianpeia/pseuds/Cassianpeia
Summary: When did he fall for her, exactly? Rowan can't pinpoint a certain event. There was no epiphany or eureka moment. Rowan simply slowly settled into the thought of it and never looked back.





	Memories

Years ago, before his world truly fell to pieces, he found himself in a graveyard very similar yet entirely different to this one.

It was gloomy, just like the city it resided in, and unkempt. Many graves had fallen prey to nature: weeds and ivy that made each gravestone nameless - unless there was someone willing enough to keep the grave clean and readable and remembered. He remembers the dark skies, how tall buildings and smoke smothered the stars, hiding them from view. He remembers the wild, trodden grass, still damp, and how stones dug into his leather boots. He remembers how silent it was, how eerie, even with the cries of pain and sadness slipping from alleyways and between cracks of old buildings; remembers the sadness in her eyes, remembers falling even deeper for her then.

When did he fall for her, exactly? Rowan can't pinpoint a certain event. There was no epiphany or eureka moment. Rowan simply slowly settled into the thought of it and never looked back.

There is no doubt that when he first met her Rowan thought she was nothing more than some insolent, sulking child that he'd have to babysit until Maeve was satisfied. Then he'd bitten her, and Rowan couldn't get the taste of her out of his mouth or the thrum of adrenaline out of his bloodstream. He couldn't understand why he felt so drawn to her, why his skin craved her touch or why his brain screamed at him to keep her safe at all costs. True to his stubborn form, Rowan had told himself that it was simply because they'd reached a mutual understanding. Anyone would feel some form of protectiveness over their friends - and against all odds, despite their constant clashes, that was what they had become.

When he'd seen her scars for the first time - those terrible, heart wrenching scars - two sides of himself had battled for control. Part of him wanted to move to her, run his fingers across her skin and trace every scar with his lips and tongue. The other had told him to find the bastard that had done such a thing and make him regret ever having done so. Neither had won, in the end.

And it must have been her ridiculous hazelnut chocolate cake that truly pushed him over the edge with no hope of return. The completely joyous grin that stretched her lips and crinkled the corners of her eyes left him weak in the knees - and as a ruthless warrior, he was rarely weak in the knees. Even though it had tasted horrible and had left his stomach unsettled for the rest of the day, her happiness was worth it. It always would be.

The time he had spent away from her was agonising. She would have no trouble protecting herself, but she also had no trouble _finding_ ; trouble. Rowan spent many nights pondering her fate. Her friends tried his patience nearly as much as she did, but he grew fond of them. 

As soon as she'd been in his arms, Rowan knew it would take an entire army and more to separate them again. 

At least, that was what he'd thought. 

It had only taken a spiteful and wicked woman to tear her away from his grasp. 

They had tried so hard, so so hard to succeed. They had travelled far and wide, risking everything to battle the darkness that had erupted, threatening every corner of the world. They'd created alliances with witches and princes, manipulated pirates, called on friends old and new to raise arms against the oncoming tide. She'd even almost completely burnt out. All of this for a world that had been terribly unkind and unfair to her. She had so much strength, even then, even when staring death incarnate in the face. She did not flinch, did not waver. 

Rowan did not rest when he lost her. Not for a moment longer than necessary. 

His body ached and his bones groaned at the exertion. Most nights, he prayed for exhaustion to take him so that he could avoid the monsters that had been plaguing his dreams. Nights were spent on cold, hard forest floors, waking before the sun had even begun to rise. Days were spent flying, walking, running towards his love, his mate. There was a physical change, that day; Rowan's heart had hardened, as cold as the element he wielded. His ruthlessness increased. He stopped for nothing, and for no one. He rarely thought of anything or anyone else other than his wife. 

The final fight was not a battle, it was a bloodbath, an execution. Bodies were strewn across the battlefield, faces marred and chests slashed. It was the worst he'd seen, and Rowan had seen many battles in his lifetime. Somehow, they succeeded in the end. Maeve hadn't just been killed, she'd been destroyed - decimated by the pure power that Aelin wielded. She'd been trapped in a metal coffin for what seemed like aeons, and yet she was still as beautiful as ever. Her power left her glowing. Rowan had watched on in pride, pausing for a moment to appraise before returning to the battle raging on. 

Everyone had rejoiced. Aelin was soon crowned and all of her allies rewarded for their heroism and courage. 

Everything had seemed right. 

Then Aelin had gotten ill. 

When they had first arrived home, there was a clear change in Aelin - just one that everyone close to her presumed was temporary. Naturally she'd be exhausted. Aelin had utilised all of her power available, and more, to keep the world safe. 

But there were no signs of improvement. Her skin dulled, turned pale even though she spent every waking moment in the sun. Her hair became limp, losing its voluptuous shape and thickness. And then her glow dimmed, the fire within that had always been so strong and wilful. 

Rowan had watched on, helpless, as his wife, his Aelin, his Fireheart grew weaker and weaker by the day - even if she refused to admit Through it all, heer smile never faltered, and she never lost her appetite for that damned cake- 

Rowan blinks, flinching as a raindrop hits his nose. He'd been so deep in thought, he hadn't even noticed the change in weather. 

He uncrosses his arms, letting his hands fall limp at his sides, as his eyes scan the stones in front of him. The grass and foliage is much more lush, healthier than in the graveyard that held Sam Cortland's grave stone. The graves are tended to, cared for by all who visit. But despite the difference in scenery, the difference in attitude, Rowan still feels a heavy sense of dread and longing that settles in his stomach. 

A hand slots into his, and Rowan closes his eyes. If he keeps his eyes shut, breaths softly, the hand wont disappear like it usually does. If he stays perfectly still, he can almost feel the trace of warmth along his side where the figure slots in so perfectly. 

But Rowan, a traitor to his own heart, opens his eyes when he hears someone approaching. 

The warmth disappears. He looks down, uncurls his fingers to look at his empty palm, before clenching them again - because the hand was never there. 

Aelin is gone, and Rowan's soul will never be the same again. 

**Author's Note:**

> I should really be focusing on Gods and Monsters but KOA is nearly out anencephaly I need to get Rowaelin out of my system.


End file.
